This is one of my favorite pictures of Leigh. This was taken many days into a sailing trip on a day of stormy weather, tedium and various little annoyances. You have to look close to see that it was that kind of day. You have to really try and notice the grey sky and how everything is soaking wet. You are distracted by the glowing, smiling, blue-eyed girl.
I have many pictures and videos of Leigh. Over the past two and a half years, I’ve tried to watch the videos and look at the pictures. It is really hard for me.
The first year she was gone, I did not look at them much. There where times when an image would be in front of me and I would have to just close my eyes. Especially when I was not expecting it. If I intentionally opened a photo file on my computer or looked a at a print I would do OK. But if I accidentally viewed a file or came across a photo unexpectedly, my brain would misfire. I would experience a shock and would feel loss and pain. The same thing would happen when I unexpectedly came across anything about her. One time, I was searching on Google for information on a particular piece of software and I found message posted to a internet forum regarding the application. I read the post and got to the signature line and found it was written by Leigh. For a instant, in a moment of confusion, I thought she may have just posted it. But then I saw the date and it was from 1999. Same thing happened when I was looking for some accounting information on my computer and came across the very last instant message she sent me: "lunch is ready". But the photos gave me the most frequent jolt because I have so many of them.
I felt a little betrayed by the pictures. What is the point of taking pictures to remember joy and accomplishment when they end up making you feel loss, sorrow and regret?
At the same time, they are very important to me. When Leigh was still in a coma, but it was clear that she would die, I took all the video cassettes I had of her to some company to ‘back them up’ to DVD. I felt this was urgent. I was afraid of losing any more of her. When I was growing up, my Mom treasured her photographs. She told me, many times, that if the house was on fire I was to grab photographs, as many as I could, and run out of the house. I suppose I felt like that. My house was definitely on fire.
I had a sagging feeling when I looked at the pictures. At the time that I took them, I felt I was taking them so Leigh and I could remember our moments, adventures, accomplishments and milestones. I imagined looking at all this imagery later on in our life and doing a “Remember when we did that with your family? Climbed that hill? Flew over that mountain? Played with that baby? Ate that fish we made?”. I feel let down that by those images because the memories are now laced with pain and I know that reality has preyed on my daydreams. I have not showed anyone the picture I have of the fish I cooked for Leigh on the barbecue on the back of our sailboat. Who would care now if I said “Hey! Look at what I ate!”. Leigh would have liked to have that conversation with me some day in our hypothetical future.
I took a lot of video of my dog Scarlet. I knew at the time, considering how dog years work, that Leigh and I would be watching these some day when Scarlet was gone. Scarlet is in the center of the videos, splashing away in the water, chasing a toy or cocking her head to the side at the sound of our voices. But as it turns out, it is the pretty girl half-in the frame whose image I’m hanging on. It’s her voice coming from behind the camera that I'm straining to hear asking Scarlet about a cookie that she is crying over. Obviously, we had no idea that Leigh was on dog years too.
I have mixed feelings now about having all this media. Even at the time I was taking the pictures and videos, I knew I could focus on taking the shot, or I could put down the camera and take the moment in with all my senses. Living a moment through a small viewfinder takes away from it. Taking a proper picture requires a lot of mental processing for successful framing, light management and focus. The price you pay for taking a good picture is you miss the real-life moment. I would think “I’ll spend this trip to Alaska taking pictures of whales, and next time Leigh and I come I’ll leave my cameras at home and experience the whales for myself.” I actually told her that. She didn’t care too much. She was going to take all her moments in with all five of her senses, every time. She really didn’t care about the cameras too much. And there was no next trip to see whales.
Frankly, it's a toss up. I wasn't always 100% there, but I did manage to get this…
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